I swear I don’t deserve the constant chaos that is my life. I don’t deserve a boil the size of Egypt on the side of my nose. I didn’t deserve the chest infection I’m currently nurturing, nor the date with the man with body odour on Friday night. And I definitely didn’t deserve the calamity that was yesterday afternoon. I’m a nice woman. I didn’t deserve it.
The day started out kinda hunky-dorey. An unexpected cheque for £100.00 landed on my doorstep and thoughts of a nice pair of winter boots interfered with my breakfast. Then a woman with blonde hair and perky glasses approached me in nursery and said something along the lines of "Well now did I want to meet her in a (relatively) local kids play centre when nursery was done and dusted?" to which I replied, "Actually I’d rather stick knitting needles up my nose, but yes of course I would love to- see you there at one, whoever you are!" . And so the matter was settled and because I am intrinsically shy and felt faint at the the thought of making conversation with a complete stranger I roped Kath into the deal and off we set, kids strapped into the back of my shed on wheels and the violence that is My Chemical Romance on the stereo. Happy as Christmas Robins!
Now it should be noted that I am familiar with this activity centre having painted a rather charming little mural there the December before last. I know where it is but still managed to get utterly lost in a town full of roundabouts. And when I say lost I mean really, really, how did we get here, lost? The kids whined. Kath looked nervous. I wanted my Mum. And then I accidentally discovered a really rather fabulous method of making the kids laugh! Approach unseen speed bumps in the manner of a boy racer and bump back down to earth in a jolly fashion. Cue screams and giggles all round. Then cross another roundabout. And find that getting off the roundbout is a teeny bit difficult because all of a sudden my brakes don’t work and it looks like we are destined to drive around this horrible sprawling town for the rest of our lives because I can’t work out how to stop the car!
But stop we do, drifting into a bus stop and putting in a call to my Dad who arrives on his chariot yet again to rescue the calamity that is his daughter and her offspring, informing me that the brake pipe has smashed, yes, probably as a result of attacking the odd speed bump or two, then stuffing the kids into the front of his trannie van and leaving me and Kath sitting on toolboxes in the back clinging on to each other in a desperate fashion, while the car was towed back to the garage manned by Huey from The Fun Loving Criminals, who grinned as he told me that this particular vehicular crisis would cost £100.00.
Winter boots. Now you see them, now you don’t….